


Erythema

by gay_bird



Series: Rød, raudona, czerwony [1]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Also Fails, Everyone is tired, First Meetings, Gen, Prequel, Red Army, The Author Tries To Build Smething Upon the Canon, Tord Tries To Be Intimidating, What Even Is Politics, and fails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 02:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16507934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_bird/pseuds/gay_bird
Summary: In which Tord tries to start an army, Patryck is a tall bean, Paul does a dumb thing and people who should not own guns get that sweet, sweet weaponry.





	Erythema

**Author's Note:**

> I am back at it with the boys. It's a series now, I guess. Patryck will get more love in the future, I promise but Paul just made more sense for me in this one. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and comments and kudos are appreciated as always!

Paul had never truly gotten used to the English weather. It mostly irritated him with its near constant humidity and minimal temperature swings. But at times like this, squatting in an abandoned farmhouse, he was grateful for the mild dampness, instead of the heavy snowfall winter meant back home. That being said, he was still cold as fuck. He scooted even closer to the dwindling fire and tossed another plank into it. It sizzled a bit, the water evaporating into wisps of steam mixing with the smoke from his cigarette in the dim orange light of the room, before catching on fire and supplying more of the much-needed warmth.   
“We can share the blankets if you’re still cold…”  
Paul glanced at his companion, wrapped in several ratty woolen blankets and a pair of old curtains they have found in the house. Patryck’s tall and lean physique made him much more susceptible to cold and Paul decided to bravely put the risk of the other man becoming hypothermic above his personal comfort. So it was completely out of the picture to accept the covers he had so chivalrously refused less than an hour ago. He also didn’t trust the Pole enough to get all cuddly with him when he didn’t have his rifle at reach. Sure, he was grateful for meeting a fellow mutineer running away from was left of their army after the massacre of an enemy air raid but Paul had never spoken to him before that night and refused to trust someone he had known for less than a month.   
“I’m good over here. Was actually planning on breaking apart one of those chairs so that we have enough firewood for the night.”  
Patryck frowned slightly and untangled one of his hands from the blankets to warm it by the fire.  
“Are you sure keeping the fire lit is a good idea? It makes us easy to spot.”  
Paul shrugged, “Beats freezing to death for me.” He stood up and cracked his neck, reaching for the nearest piece of furniture. And the smoke isn’t really that visible at night either way if we let it”  
“Stop, “ the Pole interrupted him while hastily shaking of his fabric cocoon and pulling out a handgun from his coat.  
Paul stood puzzled for a moment and almost snapped at the other man for interrupting him but then he heard it. The soft sound of someone stepping on the fallen plaster covering the floors of the house. He bent down and picked up his rifle, aiming it at the darkness of the only entrance to their residence. Waiting until the footsteps reached almost the line of light he cocked his gun before speaking with as much threat as he was able to convey, “Don’t fucking move.”  
The footsteps stopped. Then, just a beat later a voice echoed from the darkened hallway, young, suave and with a thick accent, Paul couldn’t identify. Russian maybe?  
“Now, there is no need for violence. I just came to talk.”  
Paul glanced at Patryck and the other man, now slowly standing up with his gun aimed at the doorway. The Pole nodded and mouthed “don’t shoot” at him. As much as Paul wanted to just get rid of whoever found their hideout, it would be too risky to cause such a loud noise and leave a body behind. And so he tightened his grip on the rifle and called into the darkness once more, “Put your hands above your head and slowly step into the light.”  
A soft chuckle echoed through the empty house, followed by a rustle of fabric and thud of boots on concrete. And Paul saw the intruder for the first time.   
He was...young. Barely out of his teens and ridiculously short but with a demeanor of confidence and control. He wore a black trench coat over a bulky red hoodie that contrasted starkly with his pale skin. What took most of Paul’s focus, however, were the two horns his hair styled into. What kind of person wore their hair like a fucking goat and expected to be taken seriously?  
“Can I put my hands down now, comrades?”  
“Pat, search him. Anything that can be used as a weapon is ours.”  
Paul kept the stranger on gunpoint while Patryck patted him through, periodically finding anything from a small revolver to an AK-74. At last, he reached the boots, from which he pulled out a pair of cutlery.  
“What about these?”  
“He can keep those.”  
“That is very generous of you,” the intruder flashed a bright smile at him and tucked the fork and spoon back to his shoes.  
“So what did you want to speak about?”, Patryck asked while unloading the last gun and kicking it to the pile with others.  
His smile turned a little less unsettling as took a couple of steps towards the fire.  
“You don’t mind if I warm myself up a little, do you? And let's not be strangers to each other. You are Patryck, you are Paul and I,” he held a dramatic pause and turned to face the soldiers from his place by the fire so that only his silhouette against the orange glow was visible, “am Tord. And I have a job for you.”  
“What gave you the impression that we are looking for a job?”, Pat stepped closer to the kid but kept his gun close and ready to fire. Paul still didn’t move from his place.  
Tord’s smile returned to the less genuine and more threatening areas, “You are on the run. You are convicted from both sides of the war as either mutineers or war criminals. You have no skills outside of the military area and no resources. If I were you, I’d take any opportunities available.”  
Paul wanted a lot of things. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be somewhere with actual walls and heating. He wanted to either punch or shoot the arrogant asshole that just waltzed into his wreck of a life. He wanted a cigarette. At least one of the things could be solved immediately without him fucking up royally. He locked his rifle and slung it back to its harness, then walked to the fire and lit the cigarette hanging from his lips with a lighter he had stolen back at the base before everything went to shit.  
“I won’t even question where did you get all of that from. But how do you think your job will help us with any of that?”, he could get his information sources out of him later.  
The younger man mirrored his actions, pulling out a cigar and lighting it, savoring a drag before replying, “It is quite simple, really. I am starting a… revolutionary army, of sorts and looking for reliable, experienced men who will help me start an endeavor meant to change the world as we know it. For now, I do not have much resources or men either but if you decide to join me I can guarantee you a safe journey to Norway, where your charges from both sides aren’t enforceable, a place to stay, a stable income and a fulfilling job of fighting for better future for the humankind.”  
Pat snorted a little at the last part and then turned to face Tord, blowing some of the cigar smoke away with a hand.  
“That all sounds very pretty but what are your guarantees? No offense, but you are literally a guy that walked into our shelter five minutes ago with nothing but a lot of guns and promises. Do you even have anyone else working for you?”  
The kid hunched a little defensively before replying, his voice tightening a little, “I don’t have any, okay? I mean, I have some money and guns and an apartment in Oslo. And I have these weapon prototypes I am supposed to sell to some guys but I can’t do the transaction alone and… Just listen, okay?”, Paul almost laughed into his face but Patryck gave him a look and he listened.  
“You are right, I have almost nothing and I don’t really know what am I doing. And that’s why I came to you. I know that you want the same thing as I, a communist utopia for everyone. I know that you have experience that I don’t. And I know that you are as desperate as I am. And that we can help each other. So, just consider my offer…”  
Paul hesitated. He wasn’t wrong, they needed any help they could get and the kid did say something about gun trafficking and Norway, which both sounded promising. Patryck looked at him again and lifted his eyebrows in that specific way Paul learned to recognize as “you thinking, what I’m thinking?” in the past month. He hoped they were thinking the same thing.   
He sighed softly and placed a hand against Tords shoulder in a half-fatherly, half-threatening way, “So tell me what exactly you want to do. And about those weapons. Definitely about those weapons.”

One thing Paul had to admit, the kid knew how to talk. They spent next couple of hours just listening to him rant about his plans for the “Red Army” only stopping to answer the questions the soldiers had, take a drag of his cigar or drink the coffee Pat made somewhere during his speech. The worst part about all of it was, Paul could see it happening. Every step of those plans was doable, with the right amount of luck and no concern for personal well-being. Bur Paul wasn’t big enough of an idiot to fall for stuff like that again. No more sacrificing himself for the glory of the communist regime again. No, he’d get to Norway, milk the kid for all he’s worth, grab the money, Pat and get away as fast and far as possible. All nice and simple. No more war, no more running in the middle of the night as his base and his comrades burn behind his back. He stubbed his cigarette on the concrete floor.  
“Oh, fuck it, I’m in. You, Pat?”  
The Pole glanced at him briefly, his brown eyes questioning but somehow pleased.  
“We don’t have any other options, do we?”  
Tord grins at them and stands up to look at the pale sky illuminated gold and pink with the rising sun, “Well, let’s get moving, comrades. The future is expecting us.”

 

About two weeks later, in a small apartment in Oslo, Norway.

 

The transaction went smoothly, taking place in an empty industrial complex just outside of the city in the wee hours of the morning. They got the money in cash and gold and Tord agreed on the next job while Pat and Paul loaded the crates into the anarchist's car. They returned home on the crack of dawn and Tord went straight back to his desk, putting together plans for the next bomb he was supposed to deliver. This lasted for about 30 minutes, before his head fell onto the table, the Norwegian fast asleep. Paul watched his sleeping form from the balcony he was smoking on. Pat walked into the room, his hair still damp from a shower and shook his head a little as he saw the sleeping boy, before grabbing a blanket from the couch and tossing it over him. Paul smiled a little at the motherly gesture just before the realization hit him.  
Shit...SHIT. He got attached. Fuck. He told himself so many times to not care about this dumb kid and his dumb army and about the stupid, caring Pole and he fucking did it again. God fucking damn it. He was utterly fucked, wasn’t he? He was fucked, so he might as well get some sleep. Yuu and the rest of the new recruits were coming that afternoon and he was supposed to have a plan of action for the next three months ready. As he walked past the sleeping man on his way to the bedroom he shared with Pat, he stopped and stared at the logo concepts Tord drew. The Red Army wasn’t that bad of a name after all...


End file.
